That Girl with Blue Eyes
by X-Shadow.of.Darkness-X
Summary: You're about to take another sip of Coke, but as you raise the glass to your lips, her eyes meet yours, and your heart seems to suddenly stop. Her eyes are a brilliant blue, holding depths of emotion, as though all her feelings could be conveyed in a single glance. AU Brittana
1. Chapter 1

**That Girl with Blue Eyes**

You drag your hairbrush through your hair, wrestling against the few small tangles, doing your best to ignore the sound of raised voices echoing around the house from downstairs. You don't know if your parents know their children can hear them arguing, or just don't care.

Setting the brush back down on the small dresser in the corner of your room, you stoop and snatch up your purse, looping the strap over your shoulder and tucking your sketchbook under your arm. Slipping your phone into your back pocket, you cross the room, shutting the door behind you with a snap.

As you make your way to the top of the stairs, you glance into your little brother's room. The light is off, the curtains drawn, despite it being a bright and sunny day outside. You stop and venture inside, stepping carefully over the small piles of toys scattered across the floor.

Now that your eyes have adjusted to the gloom, you can see Leo, his small body laid flat on his front on his bed, hands covering his ears, trying to block out the sound of the fighting downstairs. Sadly, you reach out, brushing your fingers lightly through his hair. Leo makes no motion, staying completely still, and as you watch him, you can see tears streaming down his small face.

With a small sigh, you turn and leave his bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you, helping deaden the noise somewhat. _It isn't fair_, you think to yourself as you descend the stairs. _He shouldn't have to hear them argue all the time._

The shouting is almost deafening on the bottom floor of the house. You cross the small entrance hall quickly, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. You're already late meeting Sam and Quinn, and you don't particularly feel like acting as the peacekeeper right now. It's only two weeks into the summer holidays, and already you're sick of mediating the arguments between your parents. This time, you decide, they can work it out themselves.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you lean against it, turning your face skywards, eyes closed, filling your lungs with the fresh summer air. You open your eyes, looking up into the vast infinite blue of the sky above, feeling instantly calm, your worries about your parents washing away with each breath you take.

You glance at your car in the drive, but decide against using it, walking along the sidewalk instead. As you walk, your mind wanders, as it so often does these days, back to your parents.

You can't remember when their fighting began in earnest, but they had been arguing privately for years now, just over a decade, in fact. You can remember nights when you sat at the bottom of the stairs, listening to your parents argue in the front room. Now, it was a part of every day life in the Lopez household, and you are the one stuck in the middle of it.

Their arguments seem so trivial, as well. Two days ago, they were screaming at each other because your father had finished the last of the milk. That argument lasted for almost half an hour before you gave up, running down to the 24/7 store a couple of blocks away and buying a new carton yourself. Easy. Problem solved.

Art is your only escape. You can lose yourself for hours in the swirls of lines and colors, and the walls of your bedroom are adorned with your various sketches and paintings. You take your sketchbook wherever you go, ready to capture a scene on a page. Most girls carry makeup in their purses; you carry pencils.

Your feet beat the familiar path along the sidewalk, heading into the centre of Lima. The advantage of living in such a small town is that everywhere is within walking distance. Every so often, a car roars past, but you are too lost in your own thoughts to notice.

"Santana!"

You look up in surprise to see the small cafe a few yards ahead, with two people sat outside, waving at you. You smile and wave back as you recognize the two blondes. You quicken your pace and join them at their table.

"Sorry I'm late." you say as you sit down, depositing your purse and sketchbook on the table. Quinn shakes her head.

"No, it's fine, we haven't been here that long."

You nod, and pretend to peruse the menu, even though it only consists of about four items. You raise your hand, catching the attention of a nearby waitress and place your order, a large Coke, no ice, please. You wait as Sam and Quinn place their orders and put the menu back down on the table.

In moments, the waitress is back, three large glasses balanced on a small tray with an expertise that comes from endless repetition. You mutter your thanks and take a small sip, sighing in gratitude as the cool liquid slips down your throat.

"I don't know how you can drink it like that, with no ice." Sam says, swishing the ice cubes in his own glass around with the straw.

"I don't know how you can drink it like _that_." you reply, nodding at his glass. "The ice melts and dilutes it. It tastes horrible if you don't drink it quickly."

Sam frowns, then shrugs.

"I never noticed that."

You say nothing, but take another sip of your drink and stare out over the scene before you. A large fountain dominates the centre of the small square, the sunlight reflecting off the pouring water, throwing dancing spots of light across the walls and ground around it. Benches are situated around the fountain, holding a mixture of couples, students and elderly people. A crossing halts the flow of the almost non-existent traffic, allowing a small group of pedestrians to cross the road.

"Santana?"

You shake your head, realizing that you must have zoned out for a moment.

"Sorry?"

Quinn gives you a strange look, but says, "I said, I can't believe we only have one year of high school left."

"I know," you agree, taking another small sip of Coke. "it only seems like yesterday we were walking down those corridors for the first time."

"We're on the home stretch now." Sam says. "We've made it three years without a pregnancy or a drug habit, I'll be damned if I break that streak now."

Quinn chuckles into her Coke.

"Do you foresee a pregnancy or drug habit in this coming year, Sam?"

Sam shrugs.

"A lot can happen in a year."

As Sam and Quinn joke between themselves, your mind wanders back over the last three years. You've managed to make it to your senior year in relative anonymity. Quinn was the head cheerleader, and Sam was gunning for the quarterback position on the football team, but you had kept to yourself as much as possible. You had enough drama at home. Quinn had badgered you for almost an entire year to join the cheerleading squad, to help bring you out of your shell, but you had stoically refused until she had finally stopped asking. Sure, you weren't top of the food chain, like Quinn and Sam, but you weren't at the bottom either, just comfortably in the middle.

"You know Miss P is gonna be on us all year about college, don't you?" Sam says. Quinn nods.

"Yeah, I know. To be honest, I don't even know what I want to do after college."

"Me either." Sam admits. "If I could play football professionally, that'd be really cool. But I know you've got to be better than the best for that."

"Then you have to believe that you are." Quinn says simply. You smile slightly to yourself. This is the real Quinn, a kind, compassionate, supportive person, not the Quinn she presents to everyone else, that of an ice-cold bitch.

"What about you, San?" Sam asks you.

Your smile widens. You know exactly what you want to do.

"An art course somewhere. I'd love to go into something creative. Graphic design, maybe."

Sam and Quinn nod.

"That actually sounds really cool." Quinn says.

You don't reply, picking up your glass and taking a large mouthful of the liquid within, looking out over the square again. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Quinn pick up your sketchbook and begin leafing through the pages.

"These are amazing." Quinn says, her eyes roving over a drawing of a waterfall, hidden away in the woodland about a mile and a half from your house. You glance over, but don't comment, letting her peruse through your sketches at her leisure.

As you look out across the square yet again, your attention is drawn to a tall, lithe girl standing on the opposite side of the road to you, waiting for the lights to halt the flow of traffic, blonde hair tied at the back of her head. As your eyes roam across her slim, athletic figure, the lights change, and she starts to cross the road.

You're about to take another sip of Coke, but as you raise the glass to your lips, her eyes meet yours, and your heart seems to suddenly stop. Her eyes are a brilliant blue, holding depths of emotion, as though all her feelings could be conveyed in a single glance. The world seems to darken around her, though her eyes remain bright, as though the very light of the world was radiating out of them. You become aware that you've stopped breathing, and suck in a hasty breath.

You try to take a mouthful of Coke, but you miss your mouth, slopping your drink down your front. You flush a brilliant shade of red, snatching at serviettes, trying to mop up the liquid and hide your embarrassment at the same time.

The girl laughs, though not maliciously, rather, as though she were mildly amused by the effect she had had on you. Her laugh is soft, lilting, musical. You soak up the excess liquid as best you can, discarding the sodden serviettes, and look up in expectation, hoping to get another look at those amazing, beautiful eyes, but the girl is already gone, her back retreating down the street away from you.

Disappointed, you turn back to Sam and Quinn, both of whom are eyeing you curiously.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks, looking at your shirt, which is starting to stick to you.

"Yeah, fine." you nod, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just missed my mouth, is all."

Quinn arches an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn't press the matter.

"All right." she says, handing you your sketchbook back. "Do you reckon you could draw us?" she asks, gesturing between herself and Sam.

"Sure." you agree, digging in your purse for a pencil. Retrieving one, you flip to a blank page, as Quinn and Sam wrap their arms around each other, grinning widely at you, with all their teenage joy, unhampered by the burdens of home life that dog you everywhere you go.

You examine them for a moment before setting pencil to paper, but as you draw, your mind is fixed firmly on one thing.

That girl with blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_That girl with blue eyes..._

You sigh as your head tilts back, coming to rest against the window frame. A partially burnt cigarette dangles between your fingers as you stare out of the window across the silent street below.

That girl has dominated your thoughts pretty much all day. You don't know why, and it's a strange sensation. No one has ever made you feel that way before. Never before has it felt like your heart has stopped, and your stomach full of butterflies.

You're also pretty sure that you've never seen her around before, a rarity in Lima. She doesn't attend McKinley, of that, you are certain, yet she had looked so at ease in her surroundings, so comfortable and familiar, that she didn't seem to have moved here recently.

You raise the cigarette to your lips, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out of the open window. The girl is an enigma, certainly, and why she's constantly on your mind is a mystery too.

You jump as your phone vibrates on your desk. Sighing, you swing yourself off of the windowsill, walking across your bedroom and slamming the door shut, blocking out the sound of raised voices below. You snatch up your phone and glance at the Caller ID. You allow yourself a small smile as you raise the phone to your ear.

"Hi, Quinn."

"_Hey._" Quinn replies, her voice distorted slightly by the crappy coverage you get in your bedroom. "_I was just checking if you'd made your mind up about tonight?_"

You silently smack your forehead. Of course, the party at Noah Puckerman's. Quinn had mentioned it to you about a week ago. It was going to be the party of the summer, or so everyone was saying. Quinn had, of course, been invited, and she had asked if you could tag along as well, even though you hadn't been invited yourself. Not that you mind, you would be perfectly happy at home.

At least, until your parents started laying into each other again.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go." you hear yourself say, as though your mouth has had enough of your brain trying to make a decision.

"_Great,_" Quinn said, sounding genuinely enthused. "_Sam and I will pick you up around 8._"

"All right, I'll see you then." you say, hanging up the phone. You toss your phone back onto the desk as you take another drag, crossing back over to the window and flicking the ash onto the street below.

You aren't entirely sure what possessed you to agree to go to the party tonight. Puck's parties were well-known for being loud, raucous and out-of-control. Everything you aren't. Still, it might do you some good, you attempt to reason with yourself. Get yourself out of your comfort zone for a night.

You reach down, stubbing the cigarette out on the underside of the sill, flicking the butt into the open bin below. You walk away from the window, pulling open the doors to your wardrobe. No doubt Quinn would take it upon herself to redress you when she arrives, but for now, you'll decide what you wear tonight.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Your phone rings again just before eight. You reach over and answer it, raising the device to your ear.

"Hello?"

"_Hi, San._" It's Quinn. Her voice sounds a little breathy, as though she'd just been running. "_Sam and I are running a little late. We got, um, sidetracked._" You roll your eyes. You know exactly what she means by 'sidetracked'. "_We're just leaving now._" Quinn continues. "_We'll be at yours in fifteen._"

You nod your head, even though you know that Quinn can't see you.

"Okay, I'll see you then."

The phone clicks off as Quinn hangs up. You sigh and toss your phone back onto your bed, the plastic bouncing off the pillow. You return to your spot in front of the mirror, looking at yourself.

Normally, you would go with jeans, but the heat has been almost overwhelming all day, so instead you settled for a skirt and light t-shirt. Reaching up, you pull your hair back, holding it behind your head with one hand as you debate tying it back or leaving it loose. You repeat this motion a few times before deciding to leave it hanging around your shoulders.

A door slams somewhere in the house, followed almost immediately by raised voices. You close your eyes, rubbing your temples gently before crossing to the window and lighting up a cigarette. Your parents can't keep this up forever, you think. Sometime soon, something will have to give.

After twenty minutes, your phone beeps on the bed. You don't even have to look at the name flashing up on the screen to know who the message is from.

**Quinn Fabray:_ We're outside._**

You nod to yourself. Snatching up your small bag, you sling the thin strap over your shoulder and stuff your phone inside. You close and lock your window and leave your bedroom, closing the door behind you. As you pass, you glance into Leo's bedroom. The young boy is sat in front of his TV, games controller in his hands, perfectly content to be lost in whatever make-believe world he is currently engrossed in.

You descend the stairs quickly, snatching your keys from the bowl next to the door. You shout a hurried goodbye and open the door, stepping out into the late evening light.

Quinn's car is parked on the street just outside your house, and you walk over, pulling open the rear door and slipping inside. You mutter a greeting as you close the door and strap yourself in.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, twisting round in his seat as far as his seatbelt will allow, looking at you in concern.

"I'm fine." you nod. "My parents..." you trail off, not needing to say more. Sam nods sympathetically, not needing any further elucidation from you. He and Quinn are well aware of the situation in your house.

Lima isn't a very big place, and soon Quinn is pulling up outside Noah Puckerman's house. Even inside the car, you can hear the music blasting from the house. Your insides twist nervously as you get out of the car. You weren't invited, after all. Quinn asked if you wanted to come along, and you agreed. Your mind whirs into overdrive as you imagine being turned away, everyone at the party laughing at you as you walk back out into the evening.

Quinn seems to notice, and puts a comforting hand on your arm.

"Come on, let's go." she says, and marches up the path to the house, you and Sam in tow. As she opens the door, the wall of noise threatens to knock you over. You wince as the pulsing music assaults your eardrums, the smell of sweat, beer and cigarette smoke filling your nostrils.

As it turns out, you don't need to worry about being turned away, as you recognize very few people here. It looks like half of Lima stumbled across the party and invited themselves in. You twist a ring on your finger, a habit you picked up a while ago whenever you're nervous or frightened.

"Quinn!"

The three of you look up to see Noah Puckerman stumbling over towards you, a bottle in each hand. As he approaches, he collects the bottles in one hand, high-fiving Sam and giving Quinn a quick hug.

"Glad you could come!" he shouts over the music, his voice barely audible.

"No problem!" Quinn shouts back, then gestures towards you. "I hope you don't mind, I brought Santana along!"

Puck looks at you for the first time, his eyes roving over your body appreciatively, and you shift awkwardly on the spot, uncomfortable underneath his gaze.

"No problem at all!" he says, grinning at you. "Come on, drinks are this way!"

He turns and begins carving a path through the sea of people, Quinn following close behind. You fall into step behind Sam, keeping your head low, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

When the group reaches the drinks table, Puck breaks off, disappearing into the throng of people. Quinn and Sam quickly set about mixing their drinks and you grab a red cup, pouring in a generous about of vodka and adding Coke on top of it. You lift your cup to your lips, sipping the liquid, feeling the vodka burning at the back of your throat slightly. You nod, and take a larger sip.

Quinn and Sam soon strike up a conversation with a group of cheerleaders and football players, while you hover at the edge of the group, not really contributing to the conversation, nursing your drink. You can't help but feel like a spare part, and you question why you agreed to come in the first place. However, the alternative is to sit in your bedroom and try to block out your parents' arguments, so you stick it out.

Before long, your cup is empty, so you go to the table to refill it. By the time you get back, however, Quinn and Sam have disappeared, and no one in the small gaggle of people seem interested in talking to you, so you quickly slip away, standing with your back to the corner, watching the people, sipping at your drink.

You can feel the alcohol doing its job already. The music begins to sound slow and repetitive, and the people dancing seemed to merge into one giant amorphous blob, a sea of sweat, skin and booze. You wish you had brought your sketchbook, but you know that Quinn would never have allowed it, deeming it antisocial. Well, that turned out well.

"Santana!"

You almost leave the floor when you jump, as Puck emerges from the crowd, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He seems to be leaning on you, using you to keep himself upright, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Hi." you say, though you're sure he didn't hear you.

"What are you doing here, all alone?" he asks, slurring his words slightly before taking a swig of his drink. "Where's Sam and Quinn?"

"I don't know!" you shout over the music.

"Well, we're doing shots in the kitchen if you want?" Puck asks, looking at you expectantly.

You take a quick glance around the room, looking for any sign of blond hair, but seeing none, you shrug.

"Sure!"

Puck grins.

"Great! This way!"

Puck takes you by the hand, carving a path through the crowds. Normally, you would be apprehensive about this, but the alcohol is now coursing through your system, and you find that you don't really care.

A great cheer goes up as you and Puck enter the kitchen. People grin at you as you take your place, and a shot glass is forced into your hand. Looking at the kitchen table, you can see all manner of different spirits; vodka, Jägermeister, Jack Daniels, absinthe, sake, Sourz and countless others you don't recognize.

Puck grabs a bottle at random, unscrewing the cap and pouring the liquid into everyone's glasses. You wait until everyone's glass has been filled, then, as one you all raise the glasses to your lips, downing the contents, wincing as the alcohol burns your throat on the way down, much more powerful than the vodka in your Coke earlier.

Before you notice, your glass is refilled, the liquid this time a strange green color. You only stop to admire the liquid for a moment, before that, too, is swallowed, not quite as strong this time, but with a distinct apple flavor.

The shots keep coming and you keep drinking, no longer feeling quite so out on your own. You don't have the first clue who these people are, but it feels nice to, for the first time that night, feel included. The drink keeps flowing, and you relax around these people, the companionship of the bottle taking hold. Every so often, you can feel a hand somewhere on your body, but you are by now too drunk to care.

The next thing you know, Puck is leading you upstairs, stumbling up the stairs. You let yourself be pulled along the hallway until you hit a door. Puck fumbles for the handle, and you both fall into the room. Puck kicks the door shut, then you both fall onto the large bed. There's a brief moment, and then your lips crash together, fueled by the alcohol. The stubble on his chin scratches at your own, but you don't care. His hands run all over your body, exploring areas that none but you have ever explored.

Puck pushes himself up, divesting himself of his shirt, and you do the same, tossing it to the floor. You kick off your shoes, then your socks, discarding them along with your skirt. Your lips crash together again as Puck's hands roam further and further.

You arch your back as Puck's hands creep underneath you, allowing him to remove your bra. His lips move from yours, traveling over the newly exposed skin. His hands move downwards, tugging at your underwear, and then you are completely exposed, for the first time in your life. A small voice in the back of your mind is shouting at you to stop, to not go through with this, but the alcohol is clouding your judgment, and so you ignore it, surrendering to Puck, who is now forcing his own underwear down and lining himself up.

You gasp at the sudden intrusion, an intrusion only made before by your own fingers. You feel Puck's weight press down on you as he begins thrusting in and out, in and out. Your body rocks with the motion, and you bring your hands to his back.

You've heard many, many stories from Quinn about how great sex was. The ecstasy and passion of the act. But as you lie there, with Puck thrusting in and out of you, you feel none of that. Puck can apparently feel it, if the grunts he's making are any indication, but for you, it feels as though you're just, there. The pleasurable sensations that Quinn's mentioned before are practically nonexistent.

Puck looks at you for a moment, and you moan in what you hope is a sensual way, but it's forced, fake. Puck doesn't seem to care, though, and continues to pound into you with renewed fervor.

Thankfully, it doesn't last long. Puck suddenly pulls himself out of you, releasing himself onto your stomach. He groans in pleasure, falling to the side. You both lie there in silence for a moment, then Puck pulls himself to his feet, redressing and disappearing out of the room, leaving you alone with only your thoughts, a dull ache between your legs and a stomach covered in semen for company.

You stare at the ceiling, then at your stomach, and you're almost instantly overcome by a feeling of disgust as the effects of the alcohol seem to wear off almost immediately. All through your life, you have been told that your first time should be with someone you love and who loves you. But you had lost it this way; drunk, with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, who had used you and left you.

Your thoughts turn to the feelings you had experienced during. It was meant to feel amazing, or so you thought. But now, as you look back on it, the only feeling you can think of to describe the experience is disappointing. Somehow, it hadn't felt right, like there was something missing. Maybe if you had actually orgasmed, it might have been different, but instinctively, you doubt it. No, there was something wrong with the entire situation. You just couldn't put your finger on it.

You look down again at the mess on your stomach, and you can feel your stomach turning slightly. This was all you were left with. You reach out blindly, trying to find something to clean yourself off with. You find a box of tissues on the night stand, and you grab a handful, cleaning yourself up as best you can. When you're done, you simply drop the dirtied tissues on the floor. _Let Puck clean them up._

You redress yourself quickly, but as you reach out for the door handle, you suddenly get a case of cold feet. Your hair is now a mess, people would know what you had been doing. One thing was for certain; you couldn't go back to the party, and you couldn't see Puck, and certainly not Quinn. _Especially_ not Quinn. She would know. And if she did, you know that you would never hear the end of it.

You exit the bedroom, quickly moving back down the hallway and down the stairs. You fight your way through the crowd to the front door, pulling it open and stepping out into the night.

The sky is dark now, the only light coming from streetlamps dotted along the sidewalks. Normally, you would think twice about walking home, alone, at this time of night, but you can see no alternative. You sigh, hugging your arms around yourself, wishing you had had the foresight to bring a jacket, then set off, putting one foot in front of the other, heading towards home, replaying the entire night in your mind, over and over again.

Coming to the party tonight had seemed like a good idea, but as you walk home, you can only think that it was perhaps the worst decision of your life.


	3. Announcement

**ANNOUNCEMENT**

Due to a hard drive failure that resulted in the deletion of all my notes and prewritten chapters, I have made the decision to go back and rewrite all of my current stories, adding to the chapters already posted and possibly changing up the narrative in some way.

This was not a decision I made lightly, though I feel it to be in the best interest of producing work of a high standard. I am sure that with the experience I have gained over the last couple of years writing fanfiction, as well as your constant support and criticism, I can improve my stories far beyond what they are now.

I have not yet decided whether to simply substitute the chapters within the current stories, or post them as new altogether. I am hopeful that this will also help me to kick the writer's block I have on some of my stories, as well as get rid of any lingering plot bunnies and touch up any continuity issues I did not pick up during the original writing.

Currently, I don't know how long this process will take, and I extend my most sincere apologies to those eagerly and patiently awaiting the latest chapters of my current stories. When I first started writing fanfiction, I vowed to never abandon my stories, and I assure you that still rings true. None of my stories will be abandoned during this transition.

Once again, I extend my apologies and thanks to you, my readers.


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